


So I will not ask you where you came from

by too_many_damn_gay_ships



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Blood and Injury, F/M, Light Angst, M/M, Self-Harm, Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:15:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29186919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/too_many_damn_gay_ships/pseuds/too_many_damn_gay_ships
Summary: He’d been here before. It was something deep and old and familiar. This was where he came to dream, to create something out of nothing. A dreamer. Like his father.Something was different this time.He wasn’t alone.
Relationships: Noah Czerny & Richard Gansey III & Ronan Lynch & Adam Parrish & Blue Sargent, Noah Czerny/Richard Gansey III/Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish/Blue Sargent
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please please please note that there is an instance of self harm and attempted rape in this fic. Please don't read this if you're sensitive to that kind of stuff, I wouldn't want to cause anyone harm. Be safe <3
> 
> The title comes from Hozier's "like real people do"
> 
> This fic held me at gunpoint until I wrote it so here we are. I hope you enjoy :)

Ronan opened his eyes, groaned, closed them again. Sleep seemed to slip out of his fingers like sand these days and he was irked to find it would be another sleepless night. But, no, the light wasn’t right. When he had closed his eyes at the Barns it was close to midnight, dark pressing in like a warm blanket.

The light that incessantly stabbed at his eyes was in fact not dark but a soft afternoon glow. He opened his eyes again and above him stretched a wide, vast, knowledgeable forest. Vines strung between trees; moss growing on the ground. The air tasted like warm honey, tinted green and scented with growing things. 

He wiggled his fingers in the grass beneath him, softer than the grass at the Barns. Impossible, yet here it was. Slowly he propped himself up on his elbows and looked around the forest. Cabeswater. 

He’d been here before. It was something deep and old and familiar. This was where he came to dream, to create something out of nothing. A dreamer. Like his father. 

Something was different this time. 

He wasn’t alone. His eyes first landed on a woman, small and dark in a white dress. Her black hair was short and softly spikey in a way that suggested it being loose was a phenomenon. In her lap was the head of a boy with hair the color of dirt. He had a smattering of freckles on his cheeks and nose. He wore a baggy white shirt and loose white pants. Neither of them wore shoes. 

Pressed against her sides were two other boys. One with a princely look about him and the other who looked faintly unreal. Smudgy. Both wore the same outfit as the one in the girl’s lap. Ronan sat up, fully awake inside a dream. 

He watched in awe as the girl tangled her fingers in the dirt-colored hair. The boy laughed, a sound that made Ronan’s heart skip a beat. There was something intimate about the laugh. Slowly, with much care, the girl tugged the boy up to his knees, between her legs. She draped her arms on his shoulders, ran her fingers up the back of his skull. She kissed the boy, pulled away, whispered something, and went back to kissing him. 

Ronan looked away embarrassed at the display of affection. Cabeswater had never shown him other people, who were they?

“Graywaren.” Four voices echoed the same word. Cabeswater’s name for Ronan. “Graywaren, join us.”

Roman stole a glance at the group again. The dirt haired boy had replaced the smudgy, unreal one. He was missing as if he had never been there in the first place. The princely one turned his head and Ronan’s breath caught in his chest. He recognized him. 

Richard Campbell Gansey the third. 

“Ah, Ronan,” Gansey sighed as if to say hello again. 

Gansey and Ronan attended Aglionby Academy together. They shared a few classes and Gansey was one of the only fuckers that didn’t make Ronan want to stick a fork in an outlet. They had never talked outside of classes, Gansey was busy with his rowing and his studies and Ronan was busy not fucking doing that. It was strange for him to be in Ronan’s dream forest.

“Graywaren,” two voices pleaded. 

“Ronan,” Gansey pleaded. 

Ronan pushed himself to his feet and stopped short once his head wrapped itself around what was happening before him. 

Smudgy boy and Gansey each had a hand on the girl’s thigh. Dirt haired boy’s hand disappeared under the hem of her dress, between her thighs. Her mouth was making soft, pleased sounds. Her fingers gripped at Gansey’s arm, presumably an anchor in the sea of her pleasure. Around their bodies grew blue flowers. 

“Oh,” Ronan said. He wasn’t sure what cabeswater wanted him to do with this. 

Gansey kissed the dirt haired boy as he worked his fingers. 

Suddenly cabeswater glitched. The bright afternoon light turned dark and the smell of rot and decay flooded Ronan’s nose. And it was like he was looking at a double-exposed Polaroid picture. The girl continued her moaning but there was another scene superimposed over it. 

Smudgy boy and Gansey’s hands were prying the girl’s legs apart. 

Ronan’s stomach clenched painfully. 

“Stop,” the girl pleaded. The dirt haired boy ripped the top of her dress, revealing a breast. Her hands tore at Gansey’s hands, shoulders, anything she could get her hands on. She kicked her feet but the dirt haired boy and Gansey pinned her down.

“Graywaren please!” She sobbed. “Kerah! Help me, please!”

Ronan slowed at the second name. It was what Chainsaw called him. This dream felt as real as life itself but how could this girl know his false names?

“Gansey, stop it,” Ronan growled. He broke out of his stupor and grabbed for the dirt haired boy’s hand where it was moving between her thighs.

“Graywaren,” the girl sighed as the double-exposure effect faded. She was once again caught in bliss rather than terror.

Gansey’s grip was once again supporting her thigh rather than forceful. 

Smudgy boy cupped her jaw with his other hand and brought her lips to his. Ronan knelt next to the dirt haired boy, hand still wrapped around the wrist beneath her dress. Her leg pressed against Ronan’s side as she shifted to accommodate another boy between her thighs. 

The other scene seemed like a nightmare within a dream. Was there a chance this was a nightmare for her and he’s only interpreting this how he wants? Cabeswater wasn’t usually this contradictory. 

The girl grabbed Ronan’s hand and guided his fingers down. He slipped inside her easily and they echoed a gasp. Hers from pleasure and his from surprise. He’s never touched a woman like this.

Ronan obediently moved his fingers and the dirt haired boy moved his. Gansey was kissing her, her soft moans and gasps muffled against his lips. Smudgy boy was kissing her neck, leaving bruises in his wake. 

It didn’t take long after that. She pulled away from Gansey and cupped Ronan’s face in her hands. She pressed her lips to his and she tightened around his fingers. As she came she pulled his face against her shoulder, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

“Kerah. Our Graywaren.”

Gansey and the smudgy boy pulled back from her and waited. The dirt haired boy removed his hand and offered his slick fingers to Gansey who took them in his mouth. 

Ronan wasn’t sure what to do with his own fingers so he started to wipe them on the moss. The girl grabbed his wrist before he could and she wrapped her lips around his fingers. She licked them clean, her tongue delicate against him. 

Once she was done she pulled Ronan down against the moss and the grass, next to her. Gansey laid down on her other side and on Ronan’s other side dirt haired boy’s body settled close. 

“Graywaren, this has already happened. It has yet to happen. Reality is funny on ley lines, Time often is a circle,” the girl curled into his side. She used his arm as a pillow. “This could have happened yesterday, or tomorrow, or in a different reality. It’s really too hard to say if this will even happen in your reality. There are many timelines, many truths. We’ll meet up soon, all of us. But right now, love, you need to wake up.” 

“Bad things are happening.” echoed and distorted around him as if the birds had figured out English. “Time to wake up, Graywaren.”

“Graywaren,” the girl propped herself up on her elbow, she pressed a light kiss to his forehead. “Go back to your Barns.”

Ronan shot awake, he wasn’t paralyzed like usual when he dreamed. He was up and on his feet before he even had time to process what the hell just happened.

He tugged on a shirt and threw open his door. Chainsaw squawked angrily from her cage on his desk. Ronan ignored her and stomped to Matthew’s room. He yanked open the door without knocking. His younger brother was asleep, as he should have been at 4 in the morning. Ronan rushed to Declan’s room and tugged open his door too. His older brother looked like he just rolled out of bed, a scowl on his perfectly boring face. 

“The fuck?” Declan whispered loud enough to be a shout. 

“Somethings wrong,” Ronan said as an explanation. He left Declan and tore open the door to Niall and Aurora Lynch’s room. Inside, his mother sat on the bed staring at her hands.

“Mom,” Matthew whispered, quiet enough to be a sigh, from behind Ronan. 

Ronan pushed past his brothers and raced to the front door. He threw it open so hard the glass in the window in the door cracked. 

That morning Ronan Lynch found Niall Lynch with his brains splattered over the gravel driveway. 

Three days later Ronan Lynch found Aurora Lynch in a coma in her bed. 

Four days later Declan Lynch, Ronan Lynch, and Matthew Lynch found themselves effectively orphaned, homeless, and rich.


	2. Chapter 2

Three days later Ronan Lynch found Aurora Lynch in a coma in her bed. 

Four days later Declan Lynch, Ronan Lynch, and Matthew Lynch found themselves effectively orphaned, homeless, and rich. 

A week later Richard Campbell Gansey the third knocked on Ronan Lynch’s Aglionby dorm room.

“The fuck do you want?” Ronan asked, cradling a bottle of cheap vodka.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Gansey offered. “I know we’ve never talked outside of class but if you ever need anything, I’m here for you.”

Ronan wanted to gag, but he was afraid if he gagged he’d lose the entire contents of his stomach. Although that wasn’t entirely out of the question with how much alcohol he’d consumed over the course of the evening. He settled for acid instead.

“Thanks, Dick, I’m sure you know exactly what I’m going through,” Ronan sneered. Gansey didn’t seem fazed by his rudeness.

“I could never begin to understand,” Gansey said. 

“Go the fuck away,” Ronan slurred, closing the door in Gansey’s face.

He was ready to pass out and leave consciousness for the people who could handle it. He swung the bottle toward the desk, intending to set it down, but smashed it right into an ugly glass figurine Matthew insisted that Ronan keep.

“Fuck,” Ronan swore. He stumbled into the desk, catching himself with his forearm directly on the glass figurine. Shards bit into the soft skin of his wrist. Blood seeped onto the desk. That’s what the pool of blood looked like, except more bone matter and brains.

Ronan’s chest tightened and breathing became a luxury he couldn’t afford. He closed his eyes and the darkness seemed to tilt behind his eyelids. He swore, swore louder, swore a third time. He tipped backwards onto the ugly blueish carpet and skittered away from the mess on the desk. His back hit the far wall and slowly his breathing became normal.

He opened his eyes and looked at his arm. A couple superficial scratches and two large cuts seemed more manageable when it didn’t look like the smashed in head of his father. He blindly grabbed at a shirt and wrapped it around his arm. With pressure on the wounds, he closed his eyes.

There was a soft knock on the door. Ronan kept his eyes shut as if ignoring it would make it simply not exist. It did not cease to exist just because Ronan wished it. Gansey softly pushed the door open and let himself in. 

“Shit, Lynch,” Gansey hissed through his teeth. He closed the door as softly as he opened it.

“Didn’t I tell you to get the fuck out of here?” Ronan asked, lacking the usual heat. 

“Lynch,” Gansey said again.

“Yep, that’s my fucking name. What do you want?” Ronan peered up at Gansey and two things were excruciatingly clear about Ronan. He was not a stranger to blood and pain. He was hurting, hurting, hurting. 

“Let me take a look at it,” Gansey knelt down next to Ronan and held out his hand.

What did Ronan have to lose? Why not offer his arm to this boy who knew nothing of the kind of darkness that lived inside Ronan Lynch? He set his arm in Gasney’s palm, tugged away the bloody shirt.

“Looks worse than what it feels like,” Ronan slurred. He was suddenly hyper aware of how his mouth wasn’t working.

“Do you have any bandaids?” Gansey asked, ignoring the faint lines of scars behind the fresh carnage.

“Nope,” Ronan was glad for the one word response.

“Shit. Okay, I’ll go see if I can find one,” Gansey reached out his hand as if he wanted to squeeze Ronan’s shoulder but thought better of it. “Keep pressure on it. Don’t pass out.”

It took Gansey 35 minutes to hunt down a goddamn bandaid big enough to cover Ronan’s mess. 

Ronan passed out for 2 minutes. He woke up, sore and hurting but he took a second to admire the way his arm looked covered in cuts and blood. Badass. He might have passed out again.

Gansey knocked softly when he returned but didn’t bother to wait for Ronan’s reply. He soundlessly cleaned away most of the blood and stuck the bandaids on. Once he was finished, Ronan’s wrist had two smaller bandaids to cover the scratches that were barely bleeding anyways why the fuck do I need a bandaid on this one and two larger bandaids higher up.

“You could stay with me tonight if you don’t want to be alone,” Gansey offered. 

“Fuck. No.” Ronan could only imagine the shit he’d get if he left with Richard Gansey and didn’t return until morning. It wasn’t as if Ronan had any friends so he wasn’t sure where the shit would come from, only that there would be shit. He managed just fine being friendless for nineteen years, he didn’t need any now.

Gansey pressed his lips into a line and stood. He turned away from Ronan and went to the desk. He used the bloody shirt to wipe the blood and glass into the trash. He shook out the glass and handed the shirt back to Ronan. 

Ronan accepted the shirt and watched as Gansey turned once more toward the desk. He grabbed a pen and a piece of homework Ronan wasn’t going to do and scribbled something on it. 

Then he left. 

Ronan bit his lip and tossed the shirt away. He avoided the homework with Gansey’s writing and flicked the light off. 

He slid into bed and passed out. 

The next morning he skipped class. For many reasons. One: he was hungover like a mofo. Two: he wasn’t ready to face Gansey. Three: he’d slept until one.

He didn’t dream, and for that he was grateful. He hadn’t been back to cabeswater since the night of the dream. He wasn’t sure if he would be more or less disappointed if cabeswater was empty the next time he visited. 

He showered, brushed his teeth, and fed Chainsaw. He tugged on clean jeans, a sleeveless shirt with holes ripped down the sides, and his boots. 

He finally looked at the homework that Gansey had written on. It was a phone number. Ronan sighed but added the number into his phone anyways. He decided that was enough phone time so he tossed his phone on the bed and snagged his keys. 

He sauntered out to the BMW and skidded out of the parking lot. He drove recklessly, without thought, until he found himself at Nino’s. 

He civilly pulled into a parking spot and found a booth at the instructions of the sign just inside the restaurant. He rapped his knuckles on the table as a cute girl asked him what he wanted to drink. 

“Just water,” he said. 

She disappeared and a douchey looking boy slid into the seat across from Ronan. 

“Fag,” Kavinsky said as a greeting. 

“Real original, never heard that one before,” Ronan said, sarcasm dripping from his mouth. “Come up with a better insult and then get back to me.”

“I see you can’t even properly kill yourself. It’s down the road not across the street.”

“Fuck you,” Ronan sneered. 

“I bet you’d love to,” Kavinsky leaned forward. “I’m having a party. Tomorrow night. Bring a substance. Maybe we can see what other obscenities I can draw from your pretty mouth.”

He swept out of the booth and out of the restaurant before Ronan could come up with a retort. 

Ronan waited a minute before following Kavinsky into the sunshine. By the time he reached the parking lot, he was left in a cloud of burnt rubber. 

He got in the BMW and drove. 

He had never intended to kill himself. Sure he’d placed a blade to his wrist, pressed down, drawn blood a couple of times. But it was never with the intent to end his life. It didn’t make sense to anyone but Ronan but he liked the way the cuts looked. Stark red against the pale underside of his wrist. 

He liked the way that he felt like a god with the blade in his hand. He had the power to end it all but he chose not to. He knew it was fucked up, obviously healthy people didn’t want to turn their wrists into something that resembled lined paper but he couldn’t help himself. It was a habit that was hard to kick.

Come home after a particularly shitty day at school. Ronan can draw blood. As a treat. 

Slam the door after a fight with Declan. Ronan can add a new scar to his collection. As a pick-me-up. 

Ronan wanted to cut now. He wanted to feel the bite of a blade. To dig deeper, deeper, deeper.

He slid into an overgrown field in front of an old factory. On the outside of the building, it read Monmouth Manufacturing. There was an old, bright orange Camaro parked out front. 

He didn’t plan on staying long. Just long enough to do what he needed to do. 

He dug in the glovebox until his fingers closed around a little box cutter he kept in there for this reason only. He pulled it out and without preamble made two cuts, not very long but deep enough that a tiny orb of blood appeared instantly. He shoved the box cutter away and dug for a bandage. What was one more?

He looked toward the factory. It would have been a great spot to practice his breaking and entering and spraying and painting.

He could call Gansey. He should call Gansey. 

He’d rather go back to his dorm and drink himself unconscious. So he did. 

It was about a week after Kavinsky’s party that Ronan saw Gansey again. 

He woke inside the dream the same way that he had the first time. Bright afternoon light blinded him, the same knowledgeable forest stretched on and on and on. 

He sat up and found the group easily. They were wearing the same things as last time. The girl sat on the dirt-haired boy’s lap, knees straddling his thighs. Gansey and the smudgy boy were talking too quietly for Ronan to understand their words. 

Gansey caught sight of Ronan and his face lit up. 

“Ronan,” Gansey waved him over. “Let me see your arm.”

Ronan padded over to Gansey and the smudgy boy and offered his arm to the former. His touch was as soft as a feather around his wrist. His arm was healing, ugly scabs hid the self-made marks he’d made the night Kavinsky slid into the booth across from him. 

“It’s looking better,” Gansey released his arm and Ronan sat down next to him. “Give me a call when you wake up.”

“Why are you here? Why are any of you here?” Ronan asked. The girl lifted herself off the boy and placed herself on Gansey’s lap. 

“Why are you here, snake?” The girl looked over her shoulder. “This is my dream.”

“Hmm,” Ronan hummed.

Her dress was hitched high over her thighs and brown skin was all too tempting. Ronan wanted nothing more than to place his mouth on her. Jealousy sparked in his chest and he wasn’t sure if he was jealous of Gansey or the girl.

After a moment the girl laughed at a joke Gansey had whispered into her ear. She toppled off his lap and pulled him down to the moss with her. Ronan watched for another moment before he was distracted by the dirt-haired boy. He had sat down next to Ronan.

“Hey,” the boy said. Ronan watched him as he watched Gansey and the girl. 

“Hey,” Ronan echoed. 

“Have you noticed that the other boy disappears a lot?” Ronan looked around and noticed that the dirt-haired boy was correct. The smudgy boy was missing. 

“Hmm,” Ronan hummed.   
He actually had noticed. He just figured it had something to do with dream logic. While cabeswater was often reliable it was still a dream. It still behaved like a dream.

He could feel cabeswater glitch before he could see it. It twisted in his stomach like he was going to throw up. When he looked at the dirt-haired boy it was like a double exposed picture again. The real cabeswater faded and he was left in the cursed cabeswater. Rot and decay filled his nose.

He brought his hand to his nose. When he pulled his hand back it was covered in blood and black goo. He wiped his bloody hand over his eye and found the source of the black. He was crying as if he was stuck with a great force of sadness. One second he was on moss surrounded by people he felt as though he actually connected with and the next he was sobbing black goo. 

He brought his attention to Gansey. He was covered in big red splotches, his hands grasping his throat as he struggled to breathe. A bee perched on his swelling cheek. 

Ronan was frozen to the ground, there wasn’t a way he’d be able to produce an epipen in this state. He looked at the girl.

A deep cut was oozing blood over her eyebrow, into her eyes. She held her hands out in front of her, blood coated her palms. 

Ronan looked away. He leveled his gaze at the smudgy boy. He cowered against an invisible attacker, his face was a beaten, pulpy mess. 

That left the dirt-haired boy. He almost didn’t want to look. But there was nothing else he could do. He felt as though he was stuck in a memory, he could only watch and relive the horrors over and over and over and over and.

He couldn’t not look at the dirt-haired boy, he’d looked last time. He’d been there when the damage was done, in another life possibly. He turned to look at the boy next to him, his head swam as though he was balancing between buzzed and blacked out.

A blooming bruise painted the boy's cheek and a hand came up to cradle his ear. 

Ronan wiped his eyes, wiped the black goo on the rotting moss beneath him. 

“I’m sorry,” Ronan croaked out, mouth spewing more black goo. “I’m so sorry.”

He didn’t know for sure it was his fault but it certainly felt like it. It was his dream, cabeswater was his forest. He pulled himself into a ball on the moss and dug his nails into the scabs on his wrist.

“Greywaren. Kerah!” 

He shoved at the body hovering over him. He made contact with something and heard the quiet oof of the person he’d just punched.

“Ronan,” Gansey gripped his wrist, stopping him from reopening too many scabs. “What happened?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what? Nothing’s happening,” A hand gripped his shoulder, grounding him. 

He opened his eyes and the soft sepia of the real cabeswater had returned and the air smelled of leaves and honeysuckle. Gansey wasn’t covered in bee stings and the girl didn’t need stitches, and the dirt-haired boy’s cheek was spotted with nothing but freckles.

“Oh, Kerah, you were crying,” the girl brushed her fingers underneath his eyes and they came away black. “Oh.”

“Don’t call me that,” Ronan sat up. He wiped his eyes, smearing the black around like day old makeup. “My raven calls me that.”

“What should I call you then?” The girl asked.

“Ronan; my name. You didn’t see what happened?”

“No, we just looked over at you, and you were curled into a ball saying ‘I’m sorry',” Gansey traced soothing shapes into Ronan’s back. 

“You were all…,” Ronan paused. They were what? Dying? Injured? He didn’t know how to explain the glitch. How would he ever explain the familiarity that he felt when he watched them bleed and die and break. “Never mind. I thought I saw something else.”

“Well if it’s nothing, then come here,” the dirt-haired boy grabbed Ronan by his collar and pulled him in for a kiss. He kissed the boy back, blocking out the thought of blooming bruises and oozing black. He was slowly lowered onto his back by the dirt-haired boy.

Ronan let the boy kiss down his neck and pull him out of his shirt. The boy went back to kissing Ronan’s collarbones. His heart damn near stopped as the boy palmed him through his jeans. He huffed out a small moan of surprise. 

Gansey kissed Ronan while the dirt-haired boy was busy undoing Ronan’s button and zipper. He pulled his jeans down only far enough to free Ronan’s dick. He hissed against Gansey’s mouth as the other boy wrapped his hand around Ronan.

The girl shifted so Ronan’s head was propped in her lap. She traced his jaw and cheekbones and the curve of his lips. He moaned against her fingers as the boy’s hand pumped faster. He lost himself in the different sensations. Her fingers absently brushing his cheek and Gansey’s palm against his chest as he kissed the girl. The dirt-haired boy’s hand around his cock.

Ronan grabbed blindly for something to hold onto as he orgasmed. His right hand had found Gansey’s face and his left buried in the dirt-haired boy’s hair. He brushed his thumb against Gansey’s cheek as he came, mouth listing off every curse he had in his vocabulary.

Gansey and the girl held him as he came down. His cheeks were flushed and his breathing was erratic. Gansey loved how wide his pupils were blown.

The dirt-haired boy wiped his hand on the moss and carefully zipped Ronan’s jeans again. He handed Ronan his shirt and pecked his cheek. 

Ronan suddenly was back in his room and not in the lap of a girl he’s never met. He stumbled out of bed and into the first mirror he came across. His eyes were rimmed with black and his nostrils were crusted with blood.

“Fuck,” he whispered. He grabbed a shirt off the floor and poured water on it from a bottle that was abandoned from an earlier time. He scrubbed the blood and black away and then checked the time. It was two minutes to three.

Ronan thought about calling Gansey, just to say he’d done it. But then of course came the possibility that he’d actually answer. Ronan decided to do it, Gansey would be asleep and would miss Ronan’s call entirely.

He tapped Gansey’s number and held the phone against his ear. Unfortunately, Gansey answered his phone.

“Hello?” Gansey sounded as though he’d just woken up. Ronan hoped he didn’t wake him.

“Hey. It’s Ronan.”

“Oh, hey,” Gansey said, around a yawn.

Ronan dropped into his bed and stared at the ceiling. He didn’t know what possessed him to dial Gansey’s number in the first place.

“I hope I didn’t wake you,” Ronan wiped his eyes and checked for black. “I don’t even know why I called.”

“Because I told you to call me when you woke up,” Gansey said. Ronan sat up.

“What?” Ronan asked, heartbeat spiking.

“Nothing, I just had a dream and you were in it,” Gansey laughed. His voice was still full of sleep and it reminded Ronan of honey. “In my dream, I told you to call me when you woke up.”

“What else happened in the dream?” Ronan asked, he studied his wrist. His scabs had been ripped open. He switched his phone to his other hand and sure enough, there was dried blood under his nails.

“Just remember that you asked for this. I asked to see your arm, you curled into a ball and cried black tears, and then you got jerked off while I kissed you.” 

“Holy fuck,” Ronan breathed. 

“I know,” Gansey laughed. 

They had the same dream. 

“Did you have a dream in that place before? About a week before you came to my dorm? Um, I fingered the girl while you kissed her?”

“Yes, what the fuck?”

Ronan balanced his phone between his ear and his shoulder and tugged on a pair of jeans. He fed Chainsaw quickly, which earned him a squawk of anger. He shoved his feet into his boots.

“What’s your dorm number, I’m coming over,” Ronan finished dressing.

“I live off campus, I’ll text you my address,” Gansey said. He ended the call and Ronan shoved his phone in his pockets.

He grabbed his wallet and his keys and snuck out of the room as quiet as a church mouse. He made his way out to his car and as he reached the parking lot he got a text from Gansey. He shook his head and took off toward Monmouth Manufacturing.


End file.
